[Ed. Note:   I really wanted this to be another awesome installment in the unintentional series, but no opera was playing and we had to see something well known and English instead.   So instead, we’ll just let the Boy wrap up the final days in this city he planned out for us…]

Another country, another opera house.  Sadly, our timing here in Sydney didn’t work out to see an actual opera, just a play instead.

So, we went to a play at the Opera House. And it was in English. And the play was Hamlet, something I think every high school student worldwide was read (hopefully) [Ed. note: Not the Girl…moving high schools halfway through meant I did lots of books and plays twice and most of the classics not at all…] and probably written a paper on as well.  So there’s not much to be confused about, nothing to get lost in translation (even though the actors were Australian), nothing for me to interpret. It was Hamlet, they did a decent job at it, I enjoyed it.

I will say that the guy playing Hamlet could have a side gig doing Rob Coddry impersonations, and the dude playing Guildenstern bore a striking resemblance to James Franco.

Enough about that, we had time in Sydney, so what else did we do besides get my wife surfing lessons and see Hamlet? We climbed a bridge!

Yeah, that’s right – since 1998, you’ve been able to strap on a harness and climb some 1930’s Australian steelwork, almost 50 meters above some well-travelled harbour waters! I found us a final thing to climb up, and this one was better than most – it involved harnesses, steel beams, edges, stairs, catwalks, and we did the “express” one where they skip the old people and children and most history [Ed. note: instead our guide told poop stories…historical poop stories, but still…] and just let you hike up the interior of the bridge straight to the top.  Definitely my kind of hike.

Sadly, though, it was not really my wife’s kind of hike.  I don’t remember how much she’s written about this, but she doesn’t really like hiking. Or climbing. Or stairs. Edges are also a no-go; it’s not the height per-se, but really just the edge where you could fall and plummet to your swift death in the water below kind of fear.  I think.  I try not to ask questions, especially after she agrees to climb something. Once I’ve got her locked into a “yes”, I go for it, pay for it, lock it in, and then she can’t really change her decision to “no”.  [Ed. note: one of these days I’ll learn, I swear…]

Anyways, so we’re climbing through this catwalk, cars and trains speeding by on the steel roadway above us, chained into this steel guide wire with the rest of our small hiking group, and she looks miserable. So I, helpfully, tell her to not look down (duh, because that’s where death is), but instead to look out, across the water, at the beautiful sunny Opera House across the way.  She acidly pointed out that the Opera House was technically down, and that my cheerfulness was not helpful.

We safely made it to the top and back, though, so I really don’t understand what the fuss was about. No one died, we climbed our final thing on the trip, and now we can start thinking about what else we’d like to climb on this planet!  At least, I can. I’m not sure she’ll climb anything else with me as long as I live.  [Ed. note: Here’s hoping…]